


Because Someone was There for My Son

by SusanaR



Series: Desperate Hours Alternative Universe G version (DH AU G) [53]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Army, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Greenwood, Heroism, Insubordination, Mentor/Protégé, Mirkwood, Second Age, Wolves, Young Thranduil, Young officer Thranduil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 04:12:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13732902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanaR/pseuds/SusanaR
Summary: Young army officer Thranduil has spent the night in a holding cell after committing an act of insubordination that will probably result in his demotion. He’s never felt lower in his life, and he doesn’t expect a confrontation with one of his loudest and most consistent critics, Glorfindel the great Balrog Slayer, to improve his morning.





	Because Someone was There for My Son

**Author's Note:**

> A/N 1: In order for certain conversations in the next chapters of Dribbling Mad to make sense, I needed to post this story featuring an earlier conversation between Thranduil and Glorfindel. 
> 
> A/N 2: This story takes place when Prince Thranduil is a soldier in his first long expedition as an army officer in my AU, so sometime after the end of the War of the Elves and Sauron in 1700 S.A., when Thranduil was still an elfling in his father’s newly founded Kingdom of Greenwood in my AU, and 3000 S.A., by which time he had long been an officer of good standing in his father’s army. 
> 
> A/N 3: Several of the elven OCs who appear in this story, including Thranduil’s cousin and fellow soldier Fileg, and General Rochendil, belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood based stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. If you like their original characters, then that is much more to their credit than mine! Feel free to let them know, and to check out their stories, but please read all tags. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
> 
> Quote: 
> 
> “Any commander who fails to exceed his authority is not of much use to his subordinates.” - Arleigh Burke 
> 
> “Leadership is mostly a power over imagination, and never more so than in combat. The bravest man alone can only be an armed lunatic. The real strength lies in the ability to get others to do your work.” – Lois McMaster Bujold

The army barracks in the town of Caras Balrant, just south of where the Great Forest Road crossed over the mighty Calenduin River near the middle of the Greenwood, boasted holding cells which were both clean and dry. That should have been some comfort to the young Prince and Junior Officer Thranduil Oropherion. But it wasn’t much of one. 

The cold stone room boasted a chamber pot, a wooden cot with a straw-stuffed mattress, and an untouched metal tray with a mug of tea and a bowl of lumpy porridge. Thranduil couldn’t bring himself to touch the food, or to sit down, never mind lay down, on the cot. 

Instead he paced the cell. Five quick strides to the left, a pivot in front of the lime stone wall, and then five steps to the right took him to the other wall. A few slits of light from the lanterns in the corridor outside came through the barred window of the wooden door into the cell. It provided enough illumination to walk without bumping into the walls, at least once Thranduil’s eyes had become accustomed to the dark. After Thranduil had been escorted to the cell the previous afternoon, he’d had to sit on the cot long enough for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. 

No light of day reached the sad little room. Thranduil wouldn’t even have known it was morning, except that a quiet soldier with ten yen knots on his uniform had appeared with the breakfast tray half an hour ago. 

It had been the longest night of Thranduil’s life to date, and this the longest morning. For all of the young prince’s life, since he’d been old enough to hear and understand the stories of his father’s and his other kinsmen’s heroism in combat, Thranduil had longed to become a warrior. When he became old enough to learn the strategy of historical wars, he realized that he wanted to become not just a fighter, but a leader. Someone who protected the helpless, and someone who was trusted by the warriors who followed him. 

Even before Thranduil had been old enough to beg a toy wooden sword weighted with lead from his parents, he had begun his training by learning how to fall, how to wrestle, and how to play hide and seek. Yes, those early lessons had mostly been fun, but he’d dedicated himself to them. When he became old enough for his first fighting staff, he’d gotten bruises all over his body and on every finger of his hands before his father finally got him to lay the staff down until his hands healed. 

Actually, that had taken the threat of being grounded after Thranduil healed, which threat had been followed through on, and memorably so. Not just once, but after every single time Thranduil persisted in his training as a fighter after his teacher – who had sometimes been his own father and other times a trusted kinsman or family friend – had told him that he must rest. 

Thranduil had entered the official training program for the Greenwood’s rapidly expanding military as soon as his parents would agree that he was old enough. Which had been after Thranduil thought he was ready, but also before his parents thought he was old enough. It had been a compromise, and Thranduil’s first months of training had been on a trial basis. He’d had to listen to every instruction and follow every order for six long months before his father consented to him continuing to train with that class of recruits. 

Thranduil hadn’t been a perfect recruit, but he had been a very dedicated one. None of his training officers had ever faulted his determination or his willingness to work hard. The young prince had gotten the occasional knocks for tardiness and even minor insubordination. Thranduil sometimes found it difficult to take orders when they didn’t make sense, particularly not when he had been trained, as a Prince, to speak up when something didn’t make sense to him, or when something seemed unfair to other elves. But he’d tried his best to bite his tongue and toe the line when it was required. 

All of his hard work as a recruit and then a soldier had finally paid off when he was promoted to Junior Officer, the lowest rank of officer in Greenwood’s army. The ranking system of Greenwood’s army was confusing to many societies, particularly Mannish societies, because Greenwood only had one officer track. There were no enlisted class elves and officer class elves. All elven soldiers began on equal footing. If they kept their noses clean and served adequately, they earned a yen knot each 144 years. Soldiers with more knots were trusted with more difficult tasks than newer soldiers, including occasional small temporary commands. However, promotion to officer rank, even Junior Officer rank, was only offered to soldiers who had shown exceptional service, loyalty, bravery, intelligence, obedience, and fortitude. 

It had been the proudest moment of Thranduil’s life, when he was promoted to Junior Officer at the earliest possible opportunity. And he’d entirely earned the honor. He knew that because his application for officer status had been considered with only the details of his service. His name – like all candidates’ names – had been left off of the application. 

He could remember the ceremony quite clearly. Standing in the sunlight outside the Army Hall at his father’s gleaming white stone palace at Amon Lanc, with his father’s hands tying the bronze and green loop of a Junior Officer onto the cuirass of Thranduil’s armored chest plate. 

On that day, Thranduil had felt like he had finally begun to justify the faith that his father had shown in him, for Oropher to trust Thranduil with not just being his son, but his heir. Granted, yes, Thranduil was Oropher’s only child, but it still would have made more sense to some elves (including sometimes Thranduil himself) for Oropher to have selected a respected adult warrior to be his acknowledged heir, at least until Thranduil earned the respect of his people by his own acts and deeds. Oropher – and historical precedent- had disagreed. 

But an heir who was a military officer was worth more than an heir who was not, everyone knew that! For instance, even those elves of Lindon who did not like Elrond Earendilion because he was a peredhel, not a true elf of pure Noldorin heritage, respected him for his leading Ereinion Gil-galad’s first army in the War of the Elves and Sauron. Thranduil was just trying to live up to the role that fate had assigned him! 

And he’d been doing well, at least until this time a week ago. Thranduil had been on his first long expedition as a Junior Officer, serving under the command of Lieutenant Langon Gronderion, a temporary replacement for Thranduil’s usual Lieutenant, Hastion Mistorion, who had been granted leave for the birth of a grandchild. 

Lieutenant Langon was a disciplined and capable officer. Middling in age for a Lieutenant, he had been a valued member of the militia force that had served the influential mountain town of Emyn Duir before Oropher became King of the Greenwood and began to reorganize and formalize the Wood’s military structure. 

Unfortunately, Lieutenant Langon was also the cousin of Soldier Tawarion, who had once called Thranduil’s father a tyrannous usurper in front of a much younger soldier Thranduil. That had prompted Thranduil to say something objectionable about Tawarion’s judgment in reply. Who had struck the first blow neither side could later remember. That infraction, for infighting, had been the most serious blackmark on Thranduil’s record to date. 

Lieutenant Langon had been slow to warm to Thranduil. But, after several months working together, Langon had actually praised Thranduil several times for his thorough work and attention to his elves. Langon had been especially pleased after Thranduil concurred with his judgment that their patrol should return to Caras Balrant to get reinforcements before hunting down a pack of wolves which had been attacking caravans on a section of the Great Forest Road. 

The Greenwood was enduring its coldest winter in the last hundred years. Game had grown scarce, especially for the largest of the Wood’s predators. The garrison at Caras Balrant had received tales of a wolf with one eye shot out by a human arrow, which had begun to attack travelers. 

Thranduil’s patrol under Lieutenant Langon’s command had been the closest unit to site of the report, so they had been ordered by messenger bird to divert in order to investigate it. The tracks and the sad carcasses the elves had found indicated that it was not just one wolf, but nearly a dozen, preying upon even the middling sized caravans on the road. 

The patrol led by Lieutenant Langon had consisted of twenty-four elves, twelve under the direct command of Thranduil as their Junior Officer, and another dozen under the command of Junior Officer Gwonir. The elves under Thranduil’s direct command included one of his cousins, Soldier Fileg Halmirion. Fileg was also Thranduil’s sworn brother. 

One of the few bright spots in Thranduil’s current disastrous situation was that he’d been able to protect Fileg and his other soldiers from any official consequences for their insubordination, by Thranduil’s having given them the insubordinate order. Which Thranduil wouldn’t have ever needed to do, if Lieutenant Langon hadn’t started his offer to escort the human merchant caravan they ran into on the way back to Caras Balant by saying something along the lines of, ‘You Men have caused us another problem by tormenting our wolves for fun and turning them into monsters, but we’ll still offer you escort through the Man-eating wolves’ territory if you wish it.’ 

It was almost impossible that the specific Men making up that merchant caravan had been the ones to shoot the arrow into the lead wolf’s eye, if that had even been what caused it to go mad and inspire its fellow wolves to become mankillers as well. But Lieutenant Langon didn’t seem to particularly like Men, and that was how he’d phrased his offer of escort. 

The Man in charge of the caravan had declined Lieutenant Langon’s rather reluctant offer, leaving the two wagons, four mules, two horses, three men, two women, and one child to the mercy of the wolves. Thranduil hadn’t been able to bear the thought of that. His cousin had agreed with him, as had eight of Thranduil’s elves who’d seen the look on his face and come to him to ask what they could do to help. Two of Junior Officer Gwonir’s elves also approached Thranduil, which had made them an even dozen armed, dangerous warriors. 

They’d left word of their plans with two of Gwonir’s other elves on watch. They hadn’t been willing to come with Thranduil, but they had been willing to not wake Lieutenant Langon with word of what Thranduil and the others were up to until morning. 

Thranduil and his soldiers had ridden through the night, approaching the merchant caravan just as the wolves were howling the call of the hunt to one another. The caravan leader, shocked to see Thranduil, had asked him what he thought he was doing there. 

“The road is free to all travelers,” Thranduil had pointed out, “We have as much right to be here as you. And our path will lie by yours, until you have gone over the next bridge. The territory of this pack ends there. The next over pack is sane, and large enough that even this blood-mad lot won’t dare poach their part of the Wood.” 

“The Valar all bless you, Captain Elf,” the caravan leader had said with relief. 

“Junior Officer Elf,” Thranduil had corrected him, with an internal sigh. Because Thranduil had known that he wasn’t likely to be even that anymore, once he faced the consequences for protecting those Men. 

But Thranduil and his soldiers had succeeded. They’d gotten the Mannish merchant caravan safely past the barrier of the mad wolves’ territory. And Thranduil could be sure that the blood-thirsty pack hadn’t decided to stray, because they followed Thranduil and his party all the way until they met the furious Lieutenant Langon and the rest of their patrol. 

Wary of the wolves, who were still a threat at that point, Lieutenant Langon had said that Thranduil would retain his command as Junior Officer until they reached Caras Balrant, at which point Thranduil would face military discipline for his gross act of insubordination. The soldiers whom Thranduil had led on their mission to protect the humans would face no charges; they had all merely been following Thranduil’s orders, as an officer who outranked them. 

But that didn’t do Thranduil himself any good. Having defied a lawful superior’s orders and taken another dozen soldiers with him on a somewhat dangerous mission had consequences, and serious ones. At the very least, Thranduil would lose his rank as Junior Officer and be demoted back to a Soldier with no rank. Quite likely, he’d also be suspended for a period of time. 

Thranduil wasn’t sure whether to be grateful that had happened while he was far from Amon Lanc – and his family – or not. He wasn’t sure whether having family to visit and perhaps comfort him would make this experience better, or worse. Oropher himself was on progress this winter, against his councilors’ advice, in order to see for himself how the Greenwood fared this winter. But his father was likely still at least a week south of Caras Balrant, at least based on the last letters Thranduil had gotten from Oropher. 

Oropher . . . Thranduil loved his father, and was deeply depressed at the thought of disappointing him. And how could Oropher fail to be disappointed in Thranduil, for committing insubordination and losing his rank? 

Footsteps in the hall caused Thranduil to pause in his pacing. When the footsteps paused outside the prince’s cell, Thranduil turned to face the door. 

It wasn’t a still-angry Lieutenant Langon, as Thranduil had half-expected, but rather Sergeant Thalosdir Medlendirion. The second-in-command of Thranduil’s entire unit, who outranked Lieutenant Langon by two degrees. 

“At attention, Junior Officer Thranduil,” the Sergeant said sternly. 

Obediently but with his heart aching, for Thranduil had always respected Sergeant Thalosdir and done his best to perform his duties in such a way as to earn respect of Thalosdir in return, the prince saluted his sergeant and then stayed at attention. 

“You have committed gross insubordination against your lawful superior officer, Lieutenant Langon,” Sergeant Thalosdir began, the charge not unexpected but cursed awful for Thranduil to hear just the same, “For this offense, you will be removed from your rank as Junior Officer. You will be deprived of your rank in front of your unit assembled, so that they know that you have paid the price for your misdeeds. And you will be suspended from your position as a Soldier in his Majesty’s Army of the Greenwood for as long as it please his Majesty or his chosen delegate.” 

“Yes . . . Yes, Sir,” Thranduil struggled to say through a suddenly dry throat. 

“Very well, Junior Officer Thranduil,” Sergeant told him, and though his tone was just as firm Thranduil thought he could see both regret and even some sympathy in depths of the officer’s hazel eyes, “We will return for you at mid-morning.” 

“Yes, Sir,” Thranduil managed again. He stayed at attention until after Sergeant Thalosdir had closed the door and walked out of the corridor. Then he slumped in despair, fighting tears. 

Thranduil held the tears at bay by returning to his pacing. Perhaps only fifteen minutes later, Thranduil heard two steps of footsteps coming down the hall. The first elf’s footsteps Thranduil recognized as the morning guard’s. But the second set of footsteps was also familiar to Thranduil. They were the footsteps of a legendary elven warrior who could be as silent as the snow when he wished to be, but who otherwise strode as if he were the Valar’s gift to warriors on Middle Earth. Which, unfortunately, Lord-the-Captain Glorfindel, chiefest retainer of Lord Elrond, King Ereinion Gil-galad’s heir and Viceroy of Imladris, arguably was. 

If Glorfindel was here, it meant that Elrond was here. Which was possible, because there had been reports of a mysterious sickness in the town of Caras Balrant and along the Great Forest Road. Thranduil knew because he’d collected and then passed on some of those reports himself in his position . . . his prior position, as junior officer. Thranduil’s father might well have asked for Elrond’s presence, in order to treat and identify the illness. If he had, then it was entirely likely that Oropher himself, and his entourage, had arrived in Caras Balrant, at least a week ahead of schedule. 

Thranduil couldn’t decide whether he would be happy to see his father, if of course Oropher even wanted to see his disgraced son. Or if Thranduil was more appalled to have it be likely that his father would see him shamed in front of his unit. Even more than that, Thranduil dreaded the loss of his father’s respect and regard which, of all things on Middle Earth, was one of the most important to him. 

While Thranduil was mulling over those unpleasant thoughts, the guard put the key in the lock of his cell and opened the door, revealing Glorfindel in all of his tall, muscular, fierce golden glory. As a child, Thranduil had thought that the mighty warrior had pretty hair. And he had loved to romp and engage in endless hide and seek games with the playful, friendly protector of the elfling Thranduil’s kind and indulgent cousin Elrond. 

Since Thranduil had come of age, however, Captain Glorfindel had been an entirely different elf. He ALWAYS took the time to train – and berate – Thranduil himself, whenever Thranduil was in Imladris or Glorfindel was in the Greenwood. And he was never satisfied with Thranduil’s progress as a swordsman, no matter how well Thranduil did in bouts even with elves thousands of years older than Thranduil himself. 

And, if by some amazing coincidence, Thranduil did exceed his own past expectations and have an exceptionally good bout with the blade, such that Glorfindel only found something mildly insulting to say about Thranduil’s performance, then the Balrog Slayer would immediately begin drilling Thranduil unmercifully in some other martial discipline. Thranduil’s bruises had bruises whenever Glorfindel was through with him, even after Thranduil had mastered every discipline required of a Greenwood warrior to his training officers’ satisfaction. Still, the rare words of praise from Glorfindel to his student were highly prized by Thranduil, in part because they were so hard-won and clearly sincere. 

Thranduil’s family, and his family’s friends, had been proud of him when Thranduil was promoted to Junior Officer. All except for Glorfindel, who had told Thranduil very bluntly that he wasn’t ready, and that he’d undoubtedly make a fool of himself, even if his foolishness never became public.

“Go away, Soldier,” Glorfindel ordered the Greenwood guard as he strode uninvited into Thranduil’s cell. 

“But, Sir,” said the now-uncertain soldier with ten yen knots on his uniform, “I’m not allowed to leave you alone with the prisoner!” 

Glorfindel gave the soldier a Look, then said, “Lock me in with him, then. I’ll call you when I’m ready to leave.” 

“I . . . I suppose that would be fine enough,” said the soldier. 

“Go on, then,” commanded Glorfindel impatiently. 

The soldier obeyed, even though by doing so he broke about a dozen Greenwood Army regulations regarding the treatment of prisoners and guests of prisoners. Glorfindel wasn’t even in the Greenwood Army’s chain of command! It was yet another example of the high-handedness Thranduil had grown accustomed to from Glorfindel. 

Well, the prince wasn’t about to let the bully of a Balrog Slayer have the first word on this terrible morning! 

“I’m honored that you could find the time in your busy schedule to come visit me just in order to gloat, Captain Glorfindel,” Thranduil greeted acidly. 

Glorfindel raised one golden eyebrow, “No, my elfling soldier. I’ve come to bring you breakfast.” Suiting words to action, he handed Thranduil a cloth bag. 

Stunned silent, Thranduil couldn’t help but look into the heavy bag. On top was a warm bun of brown bread, followed by bacon, a wedge of sharp cheddar cheese, and a ripe Eriadorian apple, which was Thranduil’s favorite kind of apple. Actually, they were all foods that Thranduil enjoyed, and could usually eat even on mornings when he knew that he was facing a difficult practice with the always-critical Glorfindel. 

When Thranduil still didn’t speak, Glorfindel sighed, and then asked, “Do you mind if I sit?” 

“Um, no. I mean, my cell is your cell, I suppose?” Thranduil replied uncertainly. He wasn’t even attempting to be sarcastic, as he often did around Glorfindel. Something about being ordered around and feeling like he was never good enough brought out Thranduil’s sarcastic side. But right now, he was just overwhelmed and bewildered. That Glorfindel might come to berate him and say he’d been right that Thranduil would fail as an officer, that wouldn’t have surprised Thranduil at all. But that he’d come to bring food? And food that Thranduil liked? It was like the sun was rising in the west! 

Glorfindel sat down on the cot with a sigh. As if he could actually be so imperfect as to be tired, like a normal being! Thranduil didn’t know what to think of it. 

After another few moments, Glorfindel nodded towards the bag in Thranduil’s hands, “Eat, lad. You should have something in your stomach before the public part of your sentence is carried out.” 

Thranduil tried and failed not to wince, “Oh, thank you so very much for reminding me,” he said, his tone waspish to conceal his shame and fear. And because this was the kind of ‘help’ he’d expected from Glorfindel. He still didn’t know what to think of the bag of food. 

To Thranduil’s astonishment, Glorfindel actually chuckled, “It’s not as if you're apt to forget, soldierling. You'll take your licks, you've earned them. But remember, this will pass. It was one series of bad decisions, weighed against solid decades of promising and dedicated service as a trainee, soldier, and junior officer.” 

As he listened, Thranduil took the bread roll out of the bag and began to tear it in half. More to have something to do so that he could hide that he was blinking away tears, rather than because he actually planned on eating it. But the silence was weighing on Thranduil, and the pain inside him. It was as if he actually must pour out some of the grief and bitterness building up within him in order to even keep on breathing. And Glorfindel was the only one there, so, even as unpalatable a choice of audience as the Balrog Slayer was to Thranduil, the prince spoke to him. 

“They . . . they’re going to take my rank away. They may even suspend me. I'll never be an officer again after this.” 

To Thranduil’s appalled shock, Glorfindel chuckled again. Then he said, loudly and forthrightly, “Orc spit to that, boy! You've a good record, and time will see you better it. Give it a decade, and this will just be three stupid decisions and a bad week.” 

Since it seemed, wonder of wonders, as if Glorfindel was actually here to support Thranduil, the young warrior answered, earnestly and sorrowfully, “You don’t know how our army works, Captain Glorfindel. I’ll never be trusted again, after this.” 

“Eat your bread and listen, Thranduil,” Glorfindel said intently, leaning forward and fixing Thranduil with his powerful cobalt blue eyes as he spoke, “No one who hasn't made some mistakes, even mistakes like this, is worth more than a curse in a windbag as an officer. You have to be willing to make mistakes, to be more than a love-rules and a lick-spittle, if you're ever going to go out on a limb and make the best possible decisions for your Kingdom and your elves in the field, far away from guidance. What you’ve done this week won’t weigh for you in promotion, no, but you were too cursed young for the rank you had anyway.” 

Still unsure of what to make of all of this, and stung by that last remark, Thranduil retorted, “I earned my rank.” 

“Yes, you did,” Glorfindel agreed equably, “But they shouldn’t have let you yet, in my opinion. Not as young as you are. You’re right, after this you won't be up for junior officer again for another dozen years at least, and by then - provided you don't make a habit out of making mistakes in this way – this whole episode will just be three lines on one sheet of parchment in the inch-thick file of your record.” 

“Even another dozen years feels like it might as well be forever,” Thranduil replied glumly, “Plus, I have to take time off from soldiering for princely duties from time to time. It will be an eternity before I even have the chance to earn back what I lost!” It was a horror and loss beyond Thranduil’s imagining. 

“You’re so young, Thranduil,” Glorfindel remarked, although there was no disdain in his voice. It was as if he was merely making a statement of fact. 

That lack of disapproval made Thranduil again erupt with some of the cutting emotions and uncertainties swirling within him, “I can’t think of what I could have done differently besides what I did,” he bemoaned, “I mean, besides not having fought with Soldier Tawarion years ago, and then not getting into an argument about that fight and whether being prince makes me act superior with Tawarion’s cousin Lieutenant Langon after he insulted the humans, which probably contributed to my failing to convince Langon to change his mind about helping the human merchant caravan. But I couldn’t risk letting the human merchants be eaten by those blood-crazed wolves, I just couldn’t!” 

“Sometimes there aren’t any right answers, soldierling. Just different wrong ones,” Glorfindel said, with what almost sounded like sympathy, “And don’t worry, I’ll go over the strategic dilemmas you faced with you. How many wolves you suspected would be there, how they might have attacked, what type of armaments you should have brought, how many elves you needed to safely repel an attack of which sort, all the different ways you might have armed and deployed your elves. . . all of that and more.” 

“Thank you,” said Thranduil, who almost wished Glorfindel had been there when he’d been making those decisions in the first place, “I'd really like that.” 

Glorfindel snorted in what sounded like amusement, “I wasn't asking you, my dear young soldier, I was telling you. But I do appreciate your enthusiasm for learning what you did wrong, and what you did right.” 

“There were things that I did right?” Thranduil whispered, tearing the bread into smaller pieces. 

The Balrog Slayer chuckled again, “You're alive, aren't you? You and your elves didn't even suffer an injury, let alone the loss of a life.” 

“Yes. . .” Thranduil had to agree, although it hadn’t sounded from the lecture Glorfindel seemed to have in the works as if he’d thought that Thranduil had missed any possible mistake he could have made in organizing a group to go after the wolves. 

“That wasn't all luck, soldierling,” Glorfindel said with rough approval, “You did some things right. Not enough, but some. Now keep eating your breakfast.” 

Thranduil found to his surprise that he had actually eaten some bread, perhaps in self-defense. He had another bite. Then he told Glorfindel, because he had to tell someone, “At least I was able to protect Fileg and my other elves from getting in trouble, even if I risked their lives. I don’t know what I could have done differently, though. I couldn’t have gotten more elves to follow me – I could only take the ones who came to me and offered, otherwise I would have tipped off Lieutenant Langon to what I was going to do, and he would have stopped it.” 

“Not if you’d overruled him as Crown Prince Thranduil,” Glorfindel pointed out, as if it was the most reasonable thing in the world. 

Thranduil’s jaw dropped at the very thought of doing something so disrespectful. Especially since the one time he’d try to pull rank in front of Glorfindel, to protect a mostly innocent guard trainee who’d helped Thranduil and his gwedyr with a prank, Glorfindel had reacted by punishing them all more harshly. 

As Glorfindel stayed silent other than to motion to Thranduil’s food in a silent command for the prince to keep eating, Thranduil finally asked, “I could do that? Pull rank like that? Even just as a Junior Officer . . .” swallowing past a lump in his throat, Thranduil added, “or even just as soldier?” 

“Who’s to stop you?” Glorfindel asked in return, then continued bracingly, “You are who you are, Thranduil. Even now, as this incident taught you, and increasingly as you get older, every time a problem comes up in the field, you will have to think about it on two levels. As whatever rank of officer you are, until you get up to Captain or even General, and . . .” 

“But Rochendil is Ada’s general,” Thranduil couldn’t help but interrupt, “I could never be a general.” 

“If your army keeps growing at the rate that it has been, you’ll need more than one general in time,” Glorfindel replied, seeming not to even take offense to the interruption as he returned to his point, “But until you get there, or at least close to there, you’ll also have to think about every problem as Prince Thranduil. And what would Prince Thranduil say to letting a caravan of human merchants get killed and eaten by wolves just because they said ‘no’ to an insulting offer of protection?” 

Thranduil took a deep breath and thought about that. Then he answered, “He . . . he would say what I said to the human merchants when I and the dozen elves who followed me caught them up. That the road is free to everyone, and that we would travel along the same road until they were past the wolves’ territory. Because it was the right thing to do, and because we can’t risk the subjects of our allies getting killed just because they mouth off to us after we insult them.” 

“There you go, then,” Glorfindel said agreeably, “Next time, if Prince Thranduil can’t endorse your commanding officer’s course of action, then overrule the next ‘Lieutenant Langon,’ whoever he is unfortunate enough to be, in your father’s name, as Crown Prince Thranduil. Then you’ll have all of the resources ‘Lieutenant Langon’ commands to decide what you should do with. That would have immediately doubled the armed elves you took with you to guard the caravan from those wolves. And gotten you Lieutenant Langon’s and your other Junior Officer’s many more centuries of experience to help you, as well.” 

“But . . . would they follow me?” Thranduil asked, almost incredulous at Glorfindel being the one to suggest such a course of action. 

“Yes, I believe that they would,” Glorfindel said unflinchingly, “if it’s a case such as this. And I know you well enough to know – now, at your current age and experience – that you wouldn’t pull rank over a small matter. Knowing you, and knowing the type of circumstances – circumstances like this, where lives were at risk – in which you would go so far as to pull rank. Yes, I believe that warriors would follow you, if you believe in yourself, like you did this past week.” 

“Why?” asked Thranduil uncertainly, “Why would they do that, when I’m so much younger and less experienced and lower-ranked than almost all of them are?” 

“Because you’re not just an excellent swordsman, responsible soldier, and talented strategist – for your age,” Glorfindel began, saying almost the opposite of what he’d spent the past many decades telling Thranduil, “You’ve also got that spark to you. Elves and Men will be inspired to follow your lead, when you find yourself inspired to lead them.” 

“How do you know? I mean, what would make you think that?” Thranduil asked, hardly noticing as he finished his bread and began eating his bacon. 

Glorfindel half-smiled, but it was a pained half smile. At first Thranduil thought that the Balrog Slayer was refusing to answer. Then, when Glorfindel finally spoke, after almost two minutes of silence, it was in a deep, sorrowful, almost longing tone of voice which Thranduil had never heard from him before. 

“Thranduil, my dear young warrior, I believe that your elves would have followed you earlier this week, had you commanded them in your father’s name as Crown Prince, in part because a young ellon whom you remind me very much of once did a similar thing, long ago, on a training exercise six days’ ride outside of Gondolin’s protective walls.” 

One thing that Thranduil knew about Glorfindel from both Elrond and Elrond’s Chief Advisor Erestor was that one never, ever, EVER asked Glorfindel any questions about Gondolin, or the Fall of Gondolin. If the Balrog-Slayer chose to speak of it, he would. But he never had, at least not in front of Thranduil. 

“What . . . what happened?” Thranduil asked in a whisper, hoping desperately that by doing so he hadn’t broken THE rule. Losing his rank was unthinkably terrible to Thranduil; but so too was breaking one of the only rules his kind cousin Elrond had ever asked Thranduil to abide by.

“The Enemy – Morgoth as well, in those days, with Sauron the Deceiver as his Lieutenant – was desperate to find a way within our walls,” Glorfindel explained, his mind clearly in the past rather than on Thranduil, “So he sent out many, many spies. He paid Men, elves and dwarves with whatever their hearts desired, in an attempt to find a way into our King Turgon’s hidden city. All we could figure, later, was that one of the Men or dwarves who mined the hills nearby where a river had unexpectedly shifted its course must have reported a small cave, formerly filled with water. That cave allowed access into the forested plain where our patrol had ventured for the purpose of training new soldiers without much experience in such terrain.” 

“It was a mixed company of orcs and werewolves who came to explore the newly-dry cave passage. The orcs were somewhat smaller than those you have faced yourself in your time as a soldier, young one, but they were smarter, too. Equally warped and cruel, but closer to their original, pitiable, tortured and corrupted elven and human ancestors. Today’s orcs are bigger, stronger, and crueler than the orcs we faced. Generations later, in this day, only the orc chieftains and their lieutenants are smart.” 

“But in the early days, well . . . some of the orcs had blue eyes, like their wood elf ancestors. The orc who led that scouting party had blue eyes, I was told. He wasn’t a chieftain or even a lieutenant, thank the Valar, but he was smart. The young elven soldier had looked him in the eyes, and seen that intelligence, when first their two companies clashed.” 

“The young soldier’s captain ordered his patrol to split, with the bulk of his company, including all of the youngest soldiers, taking a hidden path up through the trees to safety. The captain and two dozen of his most experienced soldiers led the orcs and their werewolves away from the rest of their patrol, but they were either killed or captured as a result of that. The torture began that very night. The lucky young soldiers and the few officers who were with them could hear the tormented cries and shouts of their Captain Lumbacundo and his Lieutenants Elloner and Antarno.” 

Thranduil couldn’t even imagine the horror of that. He didn’t particularly LIKE Lieutenant Langon, especially not after this past week, but Thranduil would willingly go through losing his rank a dozen times to prevent Lieutenant Langon – or any Greenwood elf – from being captured by the Enemy’s servants and tortured. 

“Captain Lumbacundo’s youngest soldier’s name was Glorendil,” Glorfindel continued, in the same deep, sorrowful tone, “He was amongst the youngest soldiers in King Turgon’s entire army, excepting trainees. And he was the third youngest soldier ever to be trusted so far from Gondolin’s walls. Captain Lumbacundo would later argue that Glorendil’s actions that day justified Lumbacundo’s position that no soldier so young should ever be trusted so far outside Gondolin’s walls, but then,” Glorfindel’s lips twisted into a crooked smile, “Lumbacundo was alive to say so, which he wouldn’t have been, but for Glorendil and Glorendil’s insubordinate actions that day.” 

“Glorendil wasn’t just a young soldier; he was the heir of one of the dozen High Lords of Gondolin. He had also spent some months working with dwarves in the mines of Gondolin, and he knew that one of his fellow soldiers, Faucon, had formerly been an explosives expert employed by the dwarves in their excavations of Gondolin’s mines. He knew, too, that Sergeant Orolos, despite being a non-commanding officer, was an expert at forest warfare from the days before Turgon’s elves found sanctuary in our hidden city.” 

“Glorendil asked Faucon if he could use the explosives he had brought to change the course of the river, re-flooding the cave passage the orcs and their werewolves had used to come so close to Gondolin. Faucon said yes. Then Glorendil asked Sergeant Orolos, the party’s second ranking surviving officer, first if Orolos thought that the werewolves’ sense of smell would be dulled if the free elves were to set fire to a stand of sagebrush near their perch on the mountain, and secondly if Orolos thought he could lead a small number of their party unseen to the clearing where the orcs had made their camp. After Orolos answered in the affirmative to both questions, Glorendil announced that he was assuming command of the party in his father’s name.” 

“There was some discussion of that, as Glorendil’s plan required a number of things to break right or at least half-right, but in the end Glorendil’s eloquence -and his argument that, of all the warriors, only Captain Lumbacundo, Lieutenants Elloner and Antarno, and Sergeant Haurener actually knew the secret way back to Gondolin – won the day.” 

“But . . .” Thranduil accidentally interrupted, “What if Haurener had died or been captured too? Then they would have had no way to get home.” 

“That was the risk they took, in venturing outside our home of Gondolin in order to learn how to defend her,” Glorfindel explained solemnly, “It was why young soldiers were generally not offered the opportunity. But Glorendil had passed all of the rigorous examinations to qualify for that dangerous honor, and King Turgon had ruled that a warrior who had passed all the tests could not be denied on the basis of his youth, no matter what that young soldier’s poor father said. And so Glorendil was there that day, and had studied and studied the strengths and weaknesses of orcs and werewolves, and had looked the leader of the orcs in the eye, besides.” 

“Glorendil sent Haurener on ahead back to Gondolin with some of their number. If Glorendil’s plan failed to liberate Captain Lumbacundo and Lieutenants Elloner and Antarno, then his warriors would have had no way to get home, until reinforcements could come to rescue them. But Glorendil and the others who remained also had no knowledge of how to get home to be tortured out of them, and all were volunteers, besides.” 

“Glorendil and Faucon went and set the explosives. Sergeant Orolos set the mountain sage on fire, then led his small group to the orcs’ camp. The orcs found themselves fully occupied trying to whip their werewolves to go up to the source of the fire – werewolves were bred from wolves, and wolves had an instinctive fear of fire, so it was a hard job. They only left two of their number behind to guard the captives, and Orolos and his warriors easily slayed the orc guards, rescued the captives, and took them to hide in the forest as well as they could. But before the last warrior left the foul camp, he set fire to it.” 

“The orcs had finally realized that the fire was a distraction, but by then there was a fire on both ends of the plain. The only exit where the smoke of the fire wasn’t directly blowing – and so the only way the werewolves would consent to go – was back towards the newly dry cave through which the orcs had originally entered the now-burning forest. And the orcs’ leader was smart enough to know that the best service he could do his Master was to run away, and report that they had found elves, possibly elves of Gondolin, on that plain.” 

“But then Glorendil and Faucon set the explosives and flooded the passage,” Thranduil guessed. 

Glorfindel nodded, “Aye, they did. The orcs feared water, and chose to brave the fire. Those who made it back past their camp were picked off by the returning elven archers, one by one. Glorendil’s command lost only one elven soldier, so well did Sergeant Orolos plan their lines of attack and retreat.” 

“The werewolves chose the water over the fire, and some of them, we believe, swam to safety. But they were not smart, in those days. Fiercer and crueler and stronger than wolves, but not smart. They were not able to tell their Master how they had reached the plain where they fought elves who might have been elves of Gondolin. Or, at the very least, Morgoth’s servants never came through that entrance again, even after the river shifted back to its previous new course.” 

“But they might have done,” Thranduil pointed out, not to contradict Glorfindel, but more mulling over the strategic possibilities, the way that his father, and Rochendil, and even the Balrog Slayer himself had taught Thranduil how to do over long evenings around a sand table. 

“Aye, they might have done. But even warriors as hard and brave as Lumbacundo, Elloner, and Antarno might have broken under torture,” Glorfindel countered, “And they DID know how to get back to Gondolin. In the end, Glorendil’s plan saved those three, and eight more soldiers besides. Lumbacundo and Elloner both served bravely in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. Because they held their line on that terrible day, many hundreds of elven and human soldiers were able to retreat alive.” 

“What happened to Glorendil?” Thranduil asked. 

Glorfindel smiled wryly, “Well, there was an inquest held, with many officers making the point that you just made. In addition to a number of other valid points. But in the end, the inquest ruled that while Glorendil had committed gross insubordination against the orders of his lawful superior officer, Captain Lumbacundo, and had irresponsibly risked the lives of Aran Turgon’s soldiers, he had not recklessly endangered them, or the safety and secrecy of Gondolin. Having held no rank as a warrior, Glorendil lost none. He was, however, suspended for two years and sanctioned in front of his company. And his father had a word or three for him, as well.” 

“But none of the other warriors were punished?” Thranduil asked thoughtfully, “Because he’d pulled rank on them?” 

“There was some debate about that as well,” Glorfindel shared, “but in the end, it was decided that the rank of the father extended to the son, or at least that the warriors, even the officers, were not remiss in assuming that it had. What Glorendil did won him the respect of some in Turgon’s army, and the disapprobation of others. He deserved both, in my opinion. But sweet Valar, do I wish I’d been able to have Glorendil with us when we last fought Sauron outside Eregion and into Imladris!” 

Assuming that Glorendil had died during the Fall of Gondolin, Thranduil’s heart ached for Glorfindel, who like Thranduil’s parents when Doriath fell, had lost so very much. 

“I’m truly sorry, Captain Glorfindel,” Thranduil offered sympathetically. 

“Thank you, lad,” Glorfindel replied, still in that strange, sorrowful voice, “I am, too.” 

The mighty Balrog Slayer actually looked to Thranduil as if he might be fighting tears. Thranduil looked down at his hands to give Glorfindel a moment to master his emotions, and was surprised to see that he’d put a good dent in the food that Glorfindel had brought him. 

Which made him have to ask, “Thank you for the breakfast, Sir. But . . . why are you here?” 

Glorfindel looked at Thranduil, as if considering whether to give him a real answer. At last he said, “Because someone was there for my son, once, when he was arrested.”

Thranduil’s jaw dropped in shock. He stared speechlessly at Glorfindel, as there were so many aspects of that statement which Thranduil simply found unbelievable - that Lord Glorfindel had ever married, or had a son! Let alone that his son had dared to be so flawed as to have done something arrest-worthy! 

After a moment of Thranduil’s silent startlement, Glorfindel chuckled, and added wryly, “Trusting that you will keep my confidence, and my son’s, Thranduil, I will tell you how grateful I am that someone was there to keep my beloved Glorendil from despairing BOTH of the times that he was arrested. The first as barely more than an elfling for a minor crime that he had committed, and the second time as a soldier for insubordination and irresponsibly risking the lives of Aran Turgon’s elves, as I said before.” 

Thranduil’s mind boggled, trying to take in that the great Glorfindel’s son had dared not only to commit a civil crime – of any type – but also to have risked so much on such a bold yet fragile plan. And that Glorfindel clearly loved Glorendil, and even respected him, not only despite his actions on that long ago day, but even, it seemed, partially because of them. 

Evidently assuming that Thranduil wasn't going to find his tongue, Glorfindel continued to confide to Thranduil, “My son didn't become an officer, but only because Gondolin fell before he had enough time in uniform to go up for it. I already had him carrying out a lieutenant's duties in the field, and not because he was my son. He became one of King Turgon’s elite squires, his personal guards. And all of that," The Balrog-slayer added, "After Glorendil was arrested, for forgery of an official document. He saw prison time for that, too." 

Glorfindel gave Thranduil an amused look, "And if Greenwood's army tells you when the day comes again that you're not officer material because of your actions this last week, Oropherion, then you come to Imladris and I will give you the chance to earn a rank." 

The sheer unbelievability of Glorfindel’s story and his unexpected offer kept Thranduil unaccustomedly silent, even as the sound of his father’s voice and the voices of Oropher’s guards sounded from the hallway. 

Thranduil’s cell door rattled again, and his father entered. His eyes went immediately to Thranduil, their emerald depths soft with love and sympathy for his son. Look though he did, Thranduil could see no trace of judgment in his father’s gaze. 

Only after a thorough assessment of Thranduil did Oropher turn to regard Glorfindel with a quizzical expression on his regal face. 

Oropher, although still clearly off-balance, found his voice and said first to Thranduil, “Hello, ion-muin-nin. I am happy to see you as well as can be, even under these circumstances.” 

And then to Glorfindel, Oropher asked, “What are you doing here, Captain Glorfindel?" 

Glorfindel gave Thranduil’s father a toothy, cheerful grin, and then blithely answered, “Recruiting." 

Turning back to Thranduil, Glorfindel said sternly, "Mind what I've said, boy, and think on this. You could become an officer much faster in Imladris. We're a smaller army with more cycling through of reservists, and I'd give you my personal attention.” 

Thranduil shook his head, and protested, “My father would never allow that.”

Thranduil didn't really want to, either, not if he had a choice, but he really didn’t think – or at least hoped – that Oropher would never approve. 

“Thranduil has that right,” Oropher objected aggrievedly, putting a hand on Thranduil’s shoulder as if to reinforce his refusal. 

Glorfindel huffed an amused breath and then pointed out to Thranduil, while more or less ignoring Oropher, “Son, you're of age. He can't stop you." 

“Lord Glorfindel,” Oropher said narrowly, “I suggest that you find some other place to be. I would like to talk to my son alone.” 

“Of course, your Grace,” said Glorfindel to Oropher, with a bow that was exactly perfect for a lord of one King showing reverence to another King. 

Then, making eye contact with Thranduil yet again, Glorfindel reinforced, "Remember, student-mine. One series of mistakes. One bad week."

“Captain Glorfindel?” Thranduil called after him, because his curiosity wouldn’t let him not ask, and who knew if Glorfindel would EVER want to talk about Gondolin with Thranduil again, “Your son - what did he forge?" 

Glorfindel paused in the door of the cell, then looked back and answered with a crooked grin, “My signature. On his enlistment papers. Glorendil had just come of age, fifty years old and six months. Just like here, student warriors need to be at least 144 years old to enter army training without a father’s permission. I’d wanted him my son to wait until he’d at least reached his full growth before he began training to put his life on the line for Gondolin. I wouldn’t sign, so he went behind my back, found a good forger, and entered the next training class.” 

Thranduil’s jaw dropped, and he couldn’t help but ask, “Did you turn him in?” 

“Eru, no, boy,” Glorfindel said firmly, “I begged my King Turgon to keep the matter quiet, and protected Glorendil from official consequences for the forgery at first. But then my son found out that his forger had forged something else, something connected to a murder. My son confessed to his crime and served time for it, so that the forger could be arrested and forced to name the murderer. And Glorendil did all of that behind my back, so that I couldn’t stop him. I’ve never been prouder of anyone than I was of my son. That day, and the day he committed insubordination, and many days since." 

Pointing to Thranduil, Glorfindel said yet again, “Remember what I’ve said, young warrior."

Almost in self-defense, Thranduil promised, "I will." 

After Glorfindel’s steps faded from the hallway, Thranduil turned to his nearly equally as taken aback father, and asked, “Has age addled Captain Glorfindel’s mind?” 

“No, I don't think so, ion-nin,” Oropher answered thoughtfully, putting an arm around Thranduil and pulling his son into a half-hug, “From what cousin Celeborn has said, Captain-the-Lord Glorfindel has always been somewhat. . . eccentric. And he does like you, you know. Or at the very least he thinks that you have potential. And from my impression, it is at least a bit of both.” 

“He's hidden that very well, up until now,” Thranduil commented wryly. 

Oropher coughed to avoid answering. Then turning serious, he told his son, “We have more to discuss than the sanity of cousin Elrond's chiefest retainer.” 

“Yes, Ada,” said Thranduil unhappily. But he was nowhere near as depressed and fearful as he had been before Glorfindel insisted on speaking with him. Even knowing that he would lose his rank, Thranduil still felt some hope for a future after that. It was more than he’d had half an hour before, and far more than he’d ever hoped to get from the great Lord-and-Captain Glorfindel!

**Author's Note:**

> More of the relationship between Glorfindel and his son Glorendil (later called Arandil) can be found in: 
> 
> In “Dragon’s Breath” available here: 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/1157175


End file.
